


Of love, love and love

by nyan-sushi (nyanshi)



Category: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:12:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5842948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyanshi/pseuds/nyan-sushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes of the past, the present, of love, love and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of love, love and love

**I.**

He lies supine on the rooftop, relaxed. His eyes are closed and a gentle breeze ruffles his fine hair - he looks beautiful.

And even more so as dark silvery irides flash open and he is already standing. Only his lethal animosity shatters the image as you take a first step towards him. He narrows his eyes to glare at you but, all you see is a disgruntled kitten, startled from his nap. He bears his claws, his tonfa, at you and he hisses; hisses that for the disruption of the peace, he’ll bite you to death. You don’t really understand, but indeed, you chuckle, like a kitten indeed.

Then you briefly wonder whether or not he meant his phrase literally and, that thought is intensified as he comes at you with a smirk - all teeth. You only just manage to avoid what would have been a heavy blow by uncoiling your leather whip, catching and restraining his slender wrist. Surprise is written all over his face and, you find it adorable.

It’s not love though, that would be impossible.

From time to time, you come to visit him, whenever you can afford a break from the seemingly endless paperwork, and his reactions grow less and less severe each time. He doesn’t try to hurt you anymore - at least not for calling his name. You’re proud of that - that he acknowledges you; that you are the only one who he allows to call it - _Kyōya._

And it’s during one of these times when you come to see him that you first feel, first _recognise_ , it. He’s not on the rooftop today, nor his usual room, so you ask of his whereabouts. His subordinate tells you; he’s around, around as always, enforcing the discipline. Your query earns you a condescending glance and this hurts your pride a little; _should_ you know? You are not so obliged but, something, _something_ seems amiss.

A short while later you find him at the back of the building. He’s caught some students, you assume they are skipping classes, but you don’t really care about them, not right now anyway. You can’t see his face but you know his expression, like a predator that has cornered his prey; anticipation, excitement, contentment. With feline grace he stalks towards them, they cower in fear and you pity them a little; you’ve felt his claws one too many a time. You feel sympathy for them, just the slightest; in any case, they probably don’t deserve it - not the pain which he will undoubtedly inflict.

That is, until he says to them, a low snarl telling that he’ll bite them to death.

You don’t know why but, suddenly you feel angry, it’s unreasonable, you feel possessive; it’s something you cannot comprehend, after all, you do not own him, not in the vaguest sense. You call to him and his attention turns to you. You see the glint in his eyes, not a kitten, a predator.

This sends shivers down your spine.

You want to know. You want to know, to understand this palpitation of your heart, this catching of your breath. You want to know and understand everything about him.

You realise it then - _you love him_.

 

**II.**

He’s there, in the office, seemingly defenceless in his sleep, but you know better than to assume. Assumption has been the origin of many wounds these past few years.

And you are right to be cautious; his eyes flutter open as soon as you are near enough, as you stroke his hair. Silky lengths caress your fingertips as you slowly raise your hands away. He looks at you, eyes questioning and it makes you remember, draw a parallel to when he used to watch you with a wary caution spoken through his eyes, translated through a flurry of attacks. But it’s different now and hidden behind liquid argent you see something smouldering, something comparable to your own insatiable affection.

As you resume your attentions he murmurs something quietly, something for your ears only; and you smile as he then drifts back to an undisturbed slumber.

The room, you notice, hasn’t changed in the least, not since the time all those years ago when he still inhabited it. It is almost as if you have taken a step into the past, back when he was still a student, and you his tutor.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder; you wonder about all the things which make him who he is - not much has changed, only now he no longer wears that blood red band, nor that midnight jacket but, the hair, his hair has stayed the same. You wonder about that, that and why he insists on patrolling a town where he no longer resides - she doesn’t welcome him back with open arms.

It’s been too long - we easily forget.

But it’s just your wishful thinking, that she will forget him, and him her; deep down you know that she always remembers. He will be eternal and untarnished in her memory, and her in his.

You know why he returns sometimes, after he accepted your proposal. You know it’s when he feels lost and wants, _needs_ , to remember; remember just why he left her, his beloved. He left to be with you. He made his sacrifices, as did you. You used to ask yourself why, how, _if_ you could choose him over your _famiglia_ traditions, over an _heir_ \- but that was easy, you knew, know, and you remember this each and every day.

Each and every day you see him, you remember - _you love him_.

 

**III.**

He’s changed. Those inky black tresses that have always been a constant since his middle school days, since the day you first met him, have now been cut short. Now he wears a shirt the colour of his flame; but not the ring, no, never the ring. Not that he can wear it anymore anyway, not now, nor in the future. Not ever, since the order for their destruction.

He talks less now, less than he used to; you don’t see him much either, he’s always away, searching and finding nothing, At times you don’t see him for weeks on end and it’s at one of those times that it comes. It was the last thing that you expected, that anyone expected; you did not wish to believe but, this was reality.

He tells you he’s sorry, he tells you _he_ is gone.

You think, think about what that statement could mean and that makes you briefly, only briefly, wonder about the apology. And the pieces suddenly fit together with lucid clarity. Your thoughts wander to that man, the man who was too much like a boy, trusting and _young_ ; your body chills and your heart weeps. He was young, so young, _too_ young. Too young, too kind, too much like how you once were. It hurts. It hurts to know he’s gone, vanished, taken from this world by a renegade bullet; no - a bullet that hit its mark.

It’s at times like this that you miss your other above all, his wordless comfort, you crave him. And with this single thought in mind, you rise. Stand, brisk strides with all the intention to leave, leave behind your cold office that has lost all pretence of warmth but, then you remember. One thing, only one thing keeps you, keeps you from rushing to wherever he is at the very moment. The apology - he knew. He knew something, and you resent him for it.

But with time, everything fades, and life goes on.

Before long, your aching heart no longer pains from entertaining cheerless thoughts; and soon all you feel is numb, detached, empty.

The days turn into weeks, the weeks into months; he was gone but now he’s back, ten years from the past. He’s more youthful, younger, younger than the man your world knows, he’s but a child; and you fear for him. And so it happens that it is on this day that _he_ also returns. Just like that. And all your subdued, bottled, emotions come rushing back like a wave - memories you locked away.

You haven’t seen him, days, weeks, not for months since. It was the first time he had ever apologised but now you don’t remember and you can’t understand, you can’t understand for what he was sorry. There is too much. Too much has changed, too much has broken since the people you knew, the people you loved, disappeared and left you here. You were alone and he was never by your side, he didn’t return, he didn’t comfort you, but _he knew_.

And it’s because of this, _because_ there is too much. You can’t bring yourself to act as you used to, hold him in your arms and whisper sweet nothings. So instead you shout, you release your frustration, you cry and accuse him, accuse him of hiding the truth, of not saying anything. Your fists clench and your hands shake as you struggle to suppress the violence which threatens to seep through the fissures of your heart. You can’t stop the bitterness in your words though, the malice corrodes you, and it’s too much to contain.

All this while he looks upon you, his face the picture of serenity; calm in the presence of your furore. He says to you that there was, _is_ , nothing to say. And this is the trigger, the trigger that snaps the thin line of sanity and restraint. You want to break something, break him, his impassive charade, this farce of love, everything; you curse at him, insult him, shout, cry profanities but, not even a crack; the pretence holds, and he shows not the slightest of reactions.

You’re tired of this - all you can feel is contempt, loathing, abhorrence, and hate. Hate. So you tell him, you tell him you hate him, you proclaim it to the world.

And he has left, not once did he look back.

But that’s false - _you love him_.

 

**IV.**

You haven’t seen him since your last encounter. You regret it - you wish you could take back what you said.

You remember, remember that you once promised him you would protect him from anything, anyone that could harm him - but you broke that promise. You hurt him; and he left you.

It’s only been a few days but, to you, it feels like years. Every day that passes is a reminder of how life is worse without him by your side.

You’ve stayed in Japan since Vongola changed - they are younger. _You_ haven’t changed and he is still the same, or so you are told. But, you haven’t seen him since and you worry that he will be next, taken like Vongola was. Your world has seen enough death.

It almost hurts more to know that he _chooses_ not to come back; nothing else is possible because you know he’s alive, you cannot fathom otherwise.

You taught him love - he called it vulnerability, something of herbivores, and he was right. You’ve hurt him. He’s hurt you.

Then, you hear the soft footsteps of someone approaching. You could always sense his presence when he was around you, but it’s not him, and all you feel is disappointment.

He enters - the man who has overseen your life since you were a child, since your father died, since you took up his mantle, became Cavallone Decimo. He tells you, confirms that _he_ is back. You turn surprised, ignoring the stacks of paper you have unsettled. Urgency is in your voice when you ask him.

_Where?_

But you already know, and your ever loyal right-hand man just watches and follows quietly, as you hastily grab your jacket and rush out the door. That irritates you and it makes you angry at him, angry at his calmness when you are in turmoil; hope, regret, unbridled feelings fighting to burst forth. But you don’t want to make another mistake, one that you possibly will not be able to amend, not like last time; and so this time, you reign in those unpleasant thoughts and bury them deep.

Your car speeds along the road, faster than the limit, but still not fast enough. It’s as if the world mocks you - it’s laughing at your desperation, your want, your _need_.

The feeling of despair washes over you and each passing minute causes your face to look more and more crestfallen. You feel that you’ll never reach him; he’ll be gone by the time you arrive.

Suddenly, the vehicle screeches to a halt, bringing your negative thoughts to a stop. You inwardly curse as you are thrown forwards from your seat - you really should have worn your seat belt.

You feel bruised but, not enough, not nearly as much as you would have felt after sparring with him. You’re not a masochist, no, just a man in love.

You open the car door and are greeted by the nostalgic sight of his once school. You haven’t been here since the last time you followed his return. Even as you run through the corridors and up the stairs you are almost astounded by the familiarity, but then again, there was once a time when you used to visit this place regularly, to see _him_ ; he was ever so partial to his school, his territory. That was a long time ago.

You remember, she remembers, there are lingering traces of him and your heart is filled with hope as you burst forth onto the rooftop.

He’s here and - _you love him_.

 

**V.**

There he lies, supine on the rooftop, yellow bird by his side. Slowly he rises; slowly he turns; and slowly you see him.

But it’s not him. It’s not _your_ Kyōya. It’s your little skylark, ten years from the past, but that’s not true - he wasn’t _yours_ then, and _this_ one isn’t yours now. This isn’t who you wanted to see. You want _your_ Kyōya; the one you painstakingly courted; the one who took your vow; the one who loves you; the one who’s gone.

You miss him and wonder when, _if_ , you will ever see him again. You want to cry.

But, no, you can’t be weak, not in front of _this_ Kyōya. You need to train him, train him to be stronger, stronger so he can survive this world; survive so that _your_ Kyōya can return.

So you hide your pain, and instead, you smile as you greet him - as if these past few months never passed. Time has rewound and is to be re-written. But, _he_ doesn’t see it this way; to him, this is the present - that will not change. He smirks and raises his tonfa. Your heart weeps.

This Kyōya doesn’t see your pain, this Kyōya can’t feel your emotions, this Kyōya doesn’t know you, doesn’t love you. And it hurts.

You want to tell him, to tell _your_ Kyōya.

You want to tell him - _I love you_.


End file.
